


Like you were in the arms of everyone you ever wanted

by saltstreets



Series: WIP AMNESTY [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: Raúl should tell Guti. Or at least mention something. Allude to it, hint at it, consider it. Or just rinse and repeat the same old routine, that might work as well.(It won't.)





	Like you were in the arms of everyone you ever wanted

**Author's Note:**

> This was written circa 2015, got lost, got found, got buried, and now got published. I'm a bit ashamed of how drippy it is but I'm leaning into it. #thisishowraulcanstillwin

 

 

“I’m in Madrid next week,” Raúl says. “Can I take you to dinner?”

“When did that become a question?” Guti demands. “Because it wasn’t anything I did.”

Raúl grins. Guti’s voice in his ear sounds like home, even an ocean away and through a crappy mobile connection. “Alright, I’ll try again. I’m in Madrid next week and I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Much better.”

Raúl hangs up, still smiling. Maybe one day just talking to Guti would no longer have the effect of a shot of some sort of very strong drug right to whatever system regulates his emotions. But probably not.

 

 

“You still haven’t shaved that ridiculous beard off.” Raúl notes, teasing. He hasn’t seen Guti in what feels like ages. And he hasn’t, really. He doesn’t like to think about how little he sees Guti. So it’s hard not to smile now.

Guti raises an eyebrow. “I’ve barely even opened the door all the way and that’s the first thing you have to say to me? I’m hurt.”

Raúl says, “I’ll make it up to you.” He opens his arms slightly, an invitation, and Guti swings the door wide and steps forward to take the hug being offered.

 

 

“How’s Madrid?” Raúl asks, knowing that Guti will know that he isn’t talking about the city.

Guti chews thoughtfully, taking his time. Raúl isn’t exactly trying to watch him so closely, but he finds himself tracing every movement, taking it all in greedily. He wants as much of Guti as he can get before he has to leave again. Everything from the flick of his hair behind his ears to the way he absently taps at the side of his glass. In the low, warm light of the restaurant he looks solid and comfortable.

“It’s good,” Guti says, finally. “The kids- I love the kids.” A smile drifts over his face. “There’s nothing like working with kids you know are going to be stars one day to keep you grounded.”

Raúl grins. “Why? Because you feel old and irrelevant?”

Guti laughs. “Not at all. Because I get to see how fucking bratty they are, and you can bet I’ll remember it when they’re getting handed the Ballon d’Or in twenty years.”

 

 

“Do you want a drink?” Guti asks, closing the front door behind him and ushering Raúl down the hall.

Raúl considers. “Are you going to have one?”

“No. Glass of wine with dinner and that does me.”

“Then I won’t either.”

Guti gives him a slightly reproachful look. “It’s not like I’m going to be offended or whatever if you do. Or like, I’m not going to be sitting here struggling not to drown myself in liquor if I see you drinking.”

“That’s not what I thought at all. I’ve just done enough drinking alone.” Raúl nudges Guti in the side. “I’ll stick with water.”

 

 

They’re sitting back on the sofa in the comfortable fullness of a good meal, when Raúl reaches over. Takes Guti’s hand in his own. “I miss you, you know.”

Guti doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Raúl’s hand and closes his eyes.

 

 

When Raúl gets back to New York he has to spend the next day shaking off the feeling of loneliness that has slipped over him like a film clinging to his skin. It isn’t as if any of this is unusual: he and Guti haven’t lived in the same city for a long time now. But whenever he’s back in Madrid it always grips at his bones a little bit and takes time to wear off.

He jerks off that night, lying in bed with his eyes closed, thinking about the way Guti’s hair smelled and imagining his long, slender fingers in place of Raúl’s own. He comes all across his stomach with a gasp as though he’s surprised to find that he’s still in love with Guti. Stupid- it’s the least surprising thing in the world, really.

 

 

Maybe next time he’s in Madrid, Raúl thinks, he’ll finally push Guti down on the sofa, straddle his lap and undo the buttons on his shirt, kiss his way down the pale stretch of Guti’s neck to his chest, bite bruises against his skin and tease the nipple that Raúl knows Guti got pierced on a drunken dare. Maybe next time he’s in Madrid he’ll tell Guti that he thinks about his smile with almost concerning regularity. Maybe he’ll tell Guti that he thinks about his hands when he comes.

But probably not.

 

 


End file.
